


Giving Up The Ghost

by Squidink



Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Keene Act, Pre-Canon, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-16
Updated: 2009-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squidink/pseuds/Squidink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the best thing you can offer the world is just knowing when to give in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giving Up The Ghost

Admittedly, Dan had expected a more… well, _explosive_ reaction.

Any reaction at all, actually, would have been nice.  Anything but this oddly unsurprised silence, and the slight nod that followed it.  Perhaps an argument.  They could exchange increasingly heated words, work themselves up from there to fists, could scream at each other like starving alley cats.  Maybe that would be enough; they would go their separate ways, nursing hurt pride and more besides, and cut it all off, clean and quick.  Or maybe he could have convinced Rorschach to follow him home, and they could have awkwardly shared a tense kitchen table, and quietly make their apologies – well, more likely Dan making his apologies and Rorschach… staring at him from across the table.   Or just nodding and walking out.  Hell.  He didn't know what to think anymore.

Still, it would have been better than this stifling hush, where implications bloomed and died in the space of breaths.

Maybe Rorschach could have convinced Dan to hold on.

Instead, the quiet between them dragged on, Archie's mechanical hums and clicks counting out the seconds, and Dan's words hung uncontested in the air.

"So, uh.  So I guess this is it, then?  I mean, with the Keene act and all…” Dan trailed off meaningfully.  He wasn’t any good at this sort of thing.  He almost risked a glance at Rorschach.  Almost.  “We can't really— I couldn't, I can’t just— well, it's out of my hands, really." Dan clutched the steering wheel with both hands, and stared straight ahead, out at the city spread out before them, below them.  It seemed so peaceful from far away, just points of light and the outlines of giants. "I guess we don't have any choice at all."

On the periphery of his vision, Rorschach nodded again, otherwise unmoving.

It was too much.

"Good God, can you at least _say_ something?"

 _Tick_ , offered Archie.

 _Tick_.

Rorschach shrugged. "Nothing to say."

 _Tick_.

 _Tick_.

This was stupid.  Dan should have just said it from the offset, when Rorschach had appeared at the door to his basement, like a clockwork man, like some sort of machine.  He had been prepared, then, still in his regular clothes, Nite Owl costume hung innocently on the rack.  But instead, he had coughed politely, had scurried upstairs to get changed, had ducked into Archie with an almost comical sense of relief.  And it had gone like any other night, really.  Quiet, mostly uneventful.  Until, of course, he had broken the status quo, had blurted out a half-garbled version of what he had meant, and blew it all to hell.

If something had happened, if something could have distracted him for a moment or maybe he could have, could have been…

“It might be better this way.  We’re getting off lucky.  Just, just look at what happened to the Minutemen.”

 _Tick_.

“We have an out, now.   Normal lives.  It’s for the best, for everybody.  We… we're not exactly popular, right now.”

 _Tick_.

“Daniel.”

It was kind of pathetic the way his heart skipped.

“Yeah?”

 _Tick_.

“Drop me here.”

“It’s, uh.  It’s no trouble,  I can still take you all the way back to my place.”

“No. Here’s fine.”

 _Tick_.

 _Tick_.

“Listen.  I, uh.  If you need to.  If.  Uh.” Daniel could feel his face starting to heat up, his guts wringing themselves into knots.  The words seemed to drag out of his throat like a mass of fishhooks, catching and snagging and tangling the whole way out. “We can’t do this. The police will be going after us if we keep it up.  It’s just not worth it.  Most of the country hates our guts, and it’s not like there’s not enough of us to, well.” Dan licked his lips, drifting as slowly as he could toward the street level.  Not enough time, anymore, he could feel it closing in tight around him, and, damn it all, he wished he had never put the suit back on. “And the police don't… they don't like you _already_ —”

“Don't need to like it.”

“Rorschach.  We can't. We have an out, now.” They were almost at the first rooftop.  Rorschach had already undone his seatbelt, still staring out ahead, watching his city welcome him home.  Home to sewers and alleys and garbage and people who had never really needed them at all.

“Don't need one.”

“You don't have to— here, let me just take you home, we can talk—”

“Here, Daniel.”

“Dammit,” Dan said, low and angry and tired despite himself. “I can't do this anymore.  I just can't.”

Rorschach stood, shrugged again, walked to the hatch.

“If you…” Dan trailed off, uncertain of how he should frame what he meant.  He felt like he had been tripping all over himself forever.  “You don't have to.”

At last, at long last, Rorschach turned his head, regarding Dan the familiar unfamiliarity of his inkblot face.  It was more than enough to make his point for him.  The silence dragged, stretched, and at last snapped; there was nothing else for it.  Dan hit the button for the hatch, the pneumatic hiss a little too final for his liking.  He should have just flown straight home.   Should've just spilled his guts at the stairs.   Should've kept his mouth shut.

Stupid.

Dan lifted up his goggles to rub at the corners of his eyes, trying to forestall the looming migraine by force of will alone.  This wasn't half as clean as he'd hoped it would be. “I guess I'll see you around, then?” he said, rueful, and turned about in his seat to offer an apologetic smile.

Dan should have known it was too late. (He _knew_ it was too late.)

Stiffly, he turned back to the window, hit the hatch button closed.  The weight of it all pressed in close around him, made him screw his eyes shut until it was _just_ Archie, _just_ his breathing, _just_ his fingers creaking as they tightened a stranglehold on the wheel.

“Hell.”

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism welcomed.


End file.
